Bayou Wolf

Saturdays were the longest days of the week. The Native American Cultural Center, where Tallulah worked, was closed, and that meant an entire day to bide her time with nothing more pressing than housework—which she loathed.

Tallulah loaded the last of the laundry in the washer and looked out the open window. The sky was washed clear of gray clouds and the earth smelled as if cleansed by last night’s storm. Too gorgeous a day to be stay stuck inside the cabin. A nice long stroll, then back home for a shower before heading to Tombi’s for dinner.

She ran outside, eager as a child let out for recess, then stopped abruptly, patting the loose strands of hair plastered on her face. They’d strayed from her messy topknot and she wore an old T-shirt and shorts. Fine for housework but... Tallulah hurried back inside, changed into fresh clothes and ran a brush through her hair.

I am not doing this in the hopes of running in to Payton. She scowled at the mirror before swiping a tube of red lipstick across her lips. This was merely an attempt to avoid looking like a total slob. Since when has that concerned me?

“Oh, shut up,” she mumbled at her reflection. A spritz of rose perfume and she was off again. She entered the woods, walking briskly, intent on exercise. She flung her arms in wide circles, working out the kinks from her pinched shoulders, which were stiff from scrubbing the bathroom and kitchen floors. No need to tote the heavy backpack during the day.

Unless she came upon that wolf again.

Tallulah shook her head. No borrowing trouble this morning. It was her day off, and that meant no shadow-hunting duties as well. Finishing the laundry could wait until evening. A nice day walking in the woods, dinner later with Tombi and Annie, and then she’d curl up with a good book and read until bedtime. She had her Saturday routine down pat.

So why did that deflate her spirits?

She pushed the uncomfortable feelings aside. Ever since she’d met Payton, a vague dissatisfaction with her quiet, predictable life troubled Tallulah. He meant nothing to her. Nothing. He was a damn lumberjack of all things. Part of a transient crew that could be gone anytime.

Her sneakers squished in the woods’ muddy patches and her legs were speckled with mud. So much for trying to look presentable. At a fork in the path, she paused. No point in going to Bo’s resting place. The storm had no doubt spoiled her handiwork and she wasn’t in the mood to tidy up the site yet again.

She continued on until she reached the clearing by the farmhouse. By day it looked quiet and peaceful. No mysterious creatures hovering about. And no sign of Payton.

Not that she cared.

A smell of rotten carcass assaulted her nose. Probably a dead deer. Yet a tingle of apprehension chased down her spine and she shivered. A faint, familiar feeling also stirred her memory. Had the wolf killed the animal? If so, at least the wolf wouldn’t be looking at her with those cagey, threatening eyes. Its belly should be full.

A compulsion to find the source of the foul odor gripped her mind. Tallulah tracked the scent. No special shadow-hunter ability needed for this. It grew stronger and tangier, enough to make her eyes water. She lifted her T-shirt over her nose and breathed out of her mouth as much as possible. Tallulah stopped abruptly at the edge of the field, where flies swarmed low to the ground. This was it.

She crept closer, not wanting to get too near. Only close enough to glimpse what had died.

Yellow corn kernels dotted the ground where they’d spilled from a burlap sack. A patch of blue denim, a black T-shirt and a gray beard—the body was human. Bile rose in her throat, caustic and burning. She was used to wisps, trapped souls, Ishkitini and other shadow spirits. Not this carnage of blood, flesh and bone. Did she know the victim? She edged forward for a closer view. The neck was torn open and blood stained the front of the dark T-shirt. Dried globules of red liquid speckled his gray beard. His face was as white as a cotton sheet, as if all the blood had drained out. Even though his features were contorted in pain, she recognized him.

It was Jeb Johnson, owner of the farm. Evidently, he’d been out illegally baiting deer and something or someone had caught up to him. Killed him. Brutally, at that. But why? Jeb mostly kept to himself—he was a quiet man who worked his land and hunted and fished. A widower, his sons were grown and they seemingly got along well with one another.

Tawny wolf eyes glittered in her mind’s eye. But even that made no sense. A wolf wouldn’t attack a human unless it was starving and there was no other prey available. These woods were filled with squirrels and rabbits and mice, enough to fill its belly.

She’d seen enough. Tallulah ran to the farmhouse, intent on reporting the news. Jeb was dead, but the sooner the cops arrived and observed the body, the more clues they might gather to solve the murder. She rapped sharply at the door.

A handsome, genial male opened the door, raised his brows in surprise and then grinned.

“Hello, little lady. Can I help you?”

“There’s a—a...” Her breath grew more shallow and she bent at the waist, catching her breath. “There’s been a murder. Call the sheriff.”

The grin slipped from his face. “Who? Murder, you say?”

“Call 911.”

“Of course.”

He started to shut the door in her face. Damn, if only she’d brought her cell phone. She never could remember to carry the stupid thing everywhere she went.

Tallulah threw her weight on the door with her right shoulder and slipped inside. The man was stronger than she was, but her quick maneuver had caught him unaware and she pushed past him.

At least a dozen men sat around the den, in various stages of undress. A few, apparently, had just arisen. At least half wore only shorts and sported shadows of a beard. The smells of bacon and coffee pervaded from the adjoined kitchen to the left. Payton was nowhere to be found.

The man who’d answered the door walked in front of her, blocking her view. “Bad news, guys. There’s been a murder.”

Tallulah stepped to his side and eyed the men.

“Shit—”

“Damn it—”

“What the—?”

One of the men rose, his forgotten breakfast plate crashing to the floor. “Not again.”

Tallulah zeroed in on his clean-shaven features. Not again? “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “Has this happened before?”

Warning glances passed around the group and an unnatural silence descended.

A tall man with close-cropped black hair strode her way. She recognized him as the timber crew’s supervisor.

“Who’s been murdered? Where’s the body?” he demanded. His blue eyes were arctic—cold and piercing.

“In the field behind your house. Call the cops.”

No one moved.

Tallulah stiffened. Their reactions were off. Way off. Any other crowd this size, over half of them would have already whipped out their ever-present cell phones and called the police. Too late, she recalled the strange creature who had entered this very house. The wolf no one claimed to notice. And Jeb’s bloody neck could have been the result of a bite. Chills ghosted up her spine.

“We’ll take care of everything,” the leader said smoothly. His eyes narrowed. “You look familiar...oh yeah, you’re one of those protestors. Ms. Silver, isn’t it?” He turned to the man who’d answered the door. “Eli, go upstairs and get Payton.”

Eli immediately bounded up the wooden stairs. The leader gripped her forearm. “Show me where you found the body.”

“After you call the cops,” she insisted. Bossy men like him couldn’t intimidate her.

He spoke to one of the guys, his eyes never leaving her face. “Adam, call 911. Now, Ms. Silver, I want to see the body.”

“You can view it along with the sheriff,” she countered, thrusting out her chin.

Shock widened his pupils. He was obviously used to being instantly obeyed. At least Adam was on the phone, reporting the murder.

He released her arm and faced the men. “Everyone go out, divide up and check the field and its perimeter.”

The men scrambled to follow his orders. Two sets of footsteps clamored down the stairs. Eli and Payton emerged.

Payton’s blond hair glistened, and tiny rivulets of water fell down his face. He wore jeans, but no shirt. The dark hair on his muscular chest was matted. He was sleek and lean and sexy as hell after his morning shower.